There was in this an impertinence which Ellen sensed and considered for a time. He was looking out of the window at the bare trees of the park with a splendid air of indifference, which Ellen felt was not indifference at all. Far back in her consciousness an odd feeling of triumph came into existence, a queer, inexplicable feeling that she was the dominant one, that somehow she had caught him now off his guard, as if she found he was not so clever as he thought. She became aware of a genuine sense of conflict, vague and undefined, ... a sort of conflict between her own intelligence and one that was quite as powerful. She watched the clear-cut ivory profile for a time and then said, “No. I left out nothing that could possibly interest anybody but me.”
(That much for his curiosity about the little man he saw for an instant through the open door at the Babylon Arms!)
Callendar turned to her. “I sound impertinent, but I only ask because it seems to me that you are even more interesting than the story you tell.”
Again this was bold and even personal, as though he sought to assume possession of that part of her which should belong to no one ... the part which was herself, at which he had no right to pry. The temptation to become feminine seized her once more.
“I suppose,” she said, “that that is a compliment. I thank you for it. Of course, I don’t know how true it is.”
“It is true,” he replied abruptly. “You are admirable ... and courageous. Spirit is a fine thing ... the greatest in the world.”
There was one thing for which she was thankful. He did not treat her as if she were a silly girl, as a man might, for example, have treated May Seton. In years he was not much older than herself yet in reality she understood that he was centuries older. Of that, she was certain. What she did not understand was that his approach to life, down to the veriest detail, was one which, by the nature of things, was not only alien but incomprehensible. He had patience, a quality which in her was so utterly lacking as to be inconceivable; he could wait. It was this which puzzled her ... this and the sense of conflict, so complicated, that was always a little way off, just out of reach and not to be understood.
From a great distance, she watched him and even herself, confused, puzzled, but profoundly interested. That much she had gained from the blood that flowed in old Gramp Tolliver’s veins. She was always watching, waiting, learning.
The rest of their conversation was less interesting. It possessed, to be sure, a strange quality of leisure; there were long silences not in the least awkward and uncomfortable. On the contrary, despite that sense of conflict and watching, there was a certain calmness about them, as of the silences which fall between old friends immersed in a perfect understanding. It was perhaps the same friendliness which she neglected always to take into consideration, in which she would never quite believe.
At the Babylon Arms they passed between the Syrian Lions of cast iron and at the elevator he left her. There was no prying this time, no evidence of curiosity. As he bade her good night, he suggested that one day they might lunch together. Then the swaying elevator bore her upward to Clarence and out of sight of Callendar.